


Reunited

by basking



Category: Tackey & Tsubasa
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basking/pseuds/basking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takki returns from South America, Tsubasa welcomes him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunited

Hideaki taps his knuckles on Tsubasa’s bedroom door and smiles when he hears an incoherent croak answer him. Shouldering out of his jacket, Hideaki pushes the door open and takes a deep breath of the lavender-scented air soaking the room.

Tsubasa’s splayed on his bed, half under the blankets. He’s wearing a face mask and nothing else, his body thrown half into shadow by the light of seven candles placed around the room. He opens his eyes slightly when Hideaki says, “Yo,” then closes them again and groans.

Hideaki sits on the edge of his bed and reaches out to brush Tsubasa’s hair out of his face. “You weren’t going to go to sleep, were you?” he murmurs.

Tsubasa grunts and doesn’t open his eyes. “Time s’it?”

“One thirty,” Hideaki says. He thumbs Tsubasa’s temple with just enough pressure to make Tsubasa sigh.

“Bad enough I had to pick you up at the airport,” Tsubasa grumbles. “Now you wake me up when I’m recuperating from a very demanding sche—”

Hideaki tugs the face mask down and kisses him, grinning. When he sneaks the tip of his tongue across Tsubasa’s mouth, he catches the flavor of sake spread on his lips.

“Are you tired?” Hideaki asks. “Maybe you should sleep.”

Tsubasa says, “Don’t be like this,” and then, plaintively, “ _Why_ are you like this?”

Hideaki laughs and rubs noses—just to hear the impatient noise Tsubasa makes—before touching their mouths together again. Immediately, Tsubasa slings a sleep-heavy arm around Hideaki’s neck and sucks his tongue between his lips, arching to press his chest against Hideaki’s.

Tired, yes, but also stubborn and horny.

Status quo: normal.

Hideaki doesn’t point out that Tsubasa didn’t so much “pick him up” as he did “sit in the back of the van that picked him up.” Still, it was almost perfect, sliding the door open and seeing Tsubasa in the curtained-off space with his head back and his headphones on. After greeting Tsubasa’s manager through the curtain, Hideaki immediately took a seat next to his humming partner. He pecked him on the nose, then the chin, and when Tsubasa continued humming and ignoring him, he laughed and kissed him full on the mouth and _then_ it was perfect.

The drive back to Tokyo took longer than usual (Tsubasa’s manager is unparalleled in his skill of finding the longest stoplights in the country) and Hideaki used the time to the fullest. He wrapped his arms around Tsubasa’s waist and back and kissed him until he had Tsubasa almost panting against his mouth, straining to get closer somehow.

When the van stopped at Tsubasa’s apartment building, Tsubasa got out and dragged a promise from Hideaki that he’d come by later. Hideaki promised, possibly more fervently than he would have normally, and watched Tsubasa walk into his building with one hand on his crotch.

As much as he would have liked to follow him and stay locked in Tsubasa’s apartment for the next thirty or sixty hours, he had to check in and see what progress his projects had taken while he was in South America.

It helped a little when he stepped out of the van and Tsubasa’s manager handed him a set of eighteen DVDs—sixteen performances and two DVDs full of backstage footage. Hideaki thanked him, beaming, and basked in the certainty that he’d be happily replaying every snap and arch of Tsubasa’s sweat-slick body in his head for the rest of his life.

Now, with that same body stretched out under him, Hideaki hurries to get rid of his clothes. Tsubasa watches him, eyes half-closed, and hums. “Not so fair-skinned now, are you, Tono?” he says, smiling.

Hideaki says, “Shush,” and palms his hands up Tsubasa’s chest to thumb over his nipples.

In the van over here he’d watched some of the Osaka performances on his portable DVD player. The gap between what Tsubasa showed him last month of his own private practice sessions and the final performances is huge, and the pride Hideaki’s been carrying around for months has tripled.

It’s a very good thing he’s got the next two days off; he doesn’t plan on leaving this bed for very long throughout the next forty-eight hours.

The candlelight moves over Tsubasa’s body like oil, and Hideaki follows the path of shadow down to Tsubasa’s clavicle with his mouth. He palms down Tsubasa’s chest to his stomach and presses his thumb against the rise of Tsubasa’s hipbone.

Normally, he wouldn’t sleep much on a plane. Death is always poking him in the face with his scythe on particularly long flights, but on this one, knowing he’d have Tsubasa to himself, he managed to get nearly six unbroken hours of sleep. (It possibly also had something to do with the thousand-kilometer journey through a foreign country he’d just taken.)

Tsubasa nips at Hideaki’s hair until Hideaki catches the hint and lifts up to kiss him again, quick and filthy. He slides his hand over Tsubasa’s cock slowly, curling his fingers around the base and chuckling when it jerks against his palm.

“Too long,” Tsubasa pants, bucking into his hand. Then, apropos of nothing: “They asked about you.”

Hideaki lines their erections together and coats precome over them both, stroking hot and rough and just at the edge of too much. “Who did?” he murmurs.

“The cast. They saw—” Tsubasa’s breath hitches as he spreads his thighs wider. “They googled me. Watched YouTube clips.”

Hideaki exhales a sharp laugh. “What did you tell them?” He pulls them off faster.

Tsubasa moans and palms down Hideaki’s back with both hands. “That you’re important to me.” He mouths Hideaki’s top and bottom lips softly one after the other. “That you’d watch every show when you got back.” He licks Hideaki’s nose fondly. “Later, maybe, together?”

Hideaki smiles and says, “Sure,” adding a slick twist from his hand.

“Fuck,” Tsubasa hisses, arching. He wraps his arm around Hideaki’s neck and drags their foreheads together.

Hideaki remembers a moment in the show when Tsubasa had his hands on a woman’s neck and his forehead pressed to hers. A jealous pang spurs him on, stroking faster and panting into Tsubasa’s mouth.

“I want to watch you dance,” he says, breath catching. Then, because he’s losing his mind from lust, “I want to dance with you.”

Tsubasa squeezes him closer and kisses him roughly through a deep, long shudder. Heat spills over Hideaki’s hand and wets Tsubasa’s stomach, rising and falling rapidly. Hideaki watches Tsubasa’s dark red lips part wider around a long exhale and kisses his forehead, lifting his hips away from Tsubasa’s and jerking himself off to the image of Tsubasa writhing in his lap, all sinew and grace and shameless want.

Tsubasa rasps out, “Come,” and Hideaki makes a thin cry and streaks white across Tsubasa’s chest. The arm he’s been holding himself up on trembles from the strain. He pants, slowly stroking over his cock until the last of the pleasure has ebbed into oversensitivity.

Tsubasa laughs, breathless, and tugs Hideaki down next to him. He kisses Hideaki’s lips and both eyelids, rolling onto his side to get at the rest of his face.

“Quit it,” Hideaki grins. “Oi.”

Tsubasa ignores him. “I missed you,” he says, in between kissing a curve down Hideaki’s jaw. “I missed you so much.”

Hideaki combs his hand through Tsubasa’s sweat-damp hair. “Me too.” He rubs their noses again, just to hear Tsubasa laugh.


End file.
